<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A New Frame of Mind by TwoHundredCouches</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084221">A New Frame of Mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoHundredCouches/pseuds/TwoHundredCouches'>TwoHundredCouches</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Slow Burn, Understanding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:13:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoHundredCouches/pseuds/TwoHundredCouches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a plan gone disastrously wrong, V finds herself waking to more than one massive headache. With a recent loss on her shoulders and a broken car, V walks from her apartment to where her journey first began: El Coyote Cojo. This time with new company she doesn’t know what to do with and neither does he. [Takes place at the start of Act II and features a few early side quests.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Johnny Silverhand &amp; Female V, Johnny Silverhand/Female V</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Part</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is based off my own experiences with the game! Before I did any other quest, I walked the full length from V’s apartment to El Coyote Cojo. I fell absolutely in love with Jackie, and I couldn’t do anything else until I completed that quest. In the process, I imagined what must have been going on in V’s head and wrote it out here! Enjoy! (BTW, I chose streetkid as my background for my V) </p><p>This is my first work published on AO3, so I do apologize if my tags are off!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>V remembers fire. Unrelenting, infinite blazes kissing her skin. Then, it ends. Her head aching worse than one of her and Jackie’s famous hangovers. The ones that would have Mama Welles shaking her head in amused disappointment. V supposes that’s what she gets for implanting some fucking biochip in her head, dying, only to be revived, if anyone could call it that, to sleeping only for a few hours after returning home. In only a moment, she is reminded of the true reason of her aching body and aching head. V touches the back of her head gingerly, the same exact spot where she feels an angry, powerful voice. A silent voice that shouts louder than the crowded streets of Night City.</p>
<p>“This is way too fuckin’ crazy,” she groans, wiping her eyes and shakily standing up. “What, no comment?” Fruitless effort. Like most efforts in Night City. Readying up, V exchanges her bandages for a tank and shorts. Anything more restricting, it would be hell to move. Taking one last look in the mirror, the mercenary traces the dotted scars around her face with her finger. Her heart races at the sensation of feeling the warmth of her cheeks. For a corpse, she really needs to talk to her landlord about fixing her air conditioning. (Not like she had any money for rent much less demands.)</p>
<p>Locking the door behind her, V shakily rides the elevator down into the garage. Her beat-up clunker greeting her like an old friend in the back corner. She feels another sensation warm in the back of her head. Excitement? Wasting no time, V steps into her car and breathes in the musk of sweat, gasoline, and... Jackie. That damn cologne stained forever in the passenger seat. “Of course it’d still last after death.” The merc sighs, gripping her hands on the wheel, and rests her head upon it as well, “Miss you, buddy.” Why hadn’t the biochip activated for Jackie? Even then, like a shady underground braindance, the failed heist rests on a permanent loop. In Delamain. With his hands reached out, with the last of his breath, he handed V a second chance. One that would not be in vain. No, the first step begins with answers and with that ancient fucking rockstar out of her head.</p>
<p>Turning the key, the engine sputters to life. Across the way, a pair of headlights blinds her, “BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER!”</p>
<p>“Delamain?” Her eyes do not adjust when the impact of a cab against her car tosses her head. She hears tires skid out of the garage, the screeching noise the same thump of anger in the back of her head. She turns the key in hope. Nothing. Turning the key again, the same angry hiss bites back from the engine. Stubborn, she flicks her wrist another time desperately. Then, a voice.</p>
<p>“It’s not going to turn on.” Johnny Silverhand appears in the passenger seat and lights a cigar. The glint of his metal arm the same brightness that just blinded V moments before.</p>
<p>“Yeah, no fucking shit, Sherlock.”</p>
<p>“So what? That makes you Watson, yeah? Looks like you’re walking, Watson.” V flips him off in response and relaxes into her seat, closing her eyes.</p>
<p>“‘S not your spot, you know. Besides, why the hell are you acting all buddy-buddy and fogging up my car? I’m not your fucking friend, Johnny.” V feels herself shift as well as the body beside her. An odd feeling, to say the least, one she hopes to never get used to.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with us being buddies for the moment?” She can hear his smirk.</p>
<p>“Probably ‘cause you tried to murder me, I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“I-“ Johnny struggles to find the words, considering their shared minds existed in two different areas of thought. Neither of them could reach a conclusion in either of their thoughts, yet it worked when V’s phone began to ring.</p>
<p>“I’m taking this.”</p>
<p>Johnny half-listens to the conversation. It was that boy’s mother, obviously grieving. For one reason or another, he could not figure why V cares so much right now. For all she fucking knew, it was gonna be soon, at this rate, before she joins her buddy. Yet, he could hear the turmoil in her voice. A raw, guttural rasp of a conversation that ended simply with, “I’m on my way.” V, still shaky, stands out from the car and slams the door. Adjusting to his new hallucinatory body, Johnny teleports from the car to stand by V. Sucking in her breath, V tenderly touches the hood of her car. “It’s so fucked.”</p>
<p>“Now that’s the understatement of the year, V. You almost beat, ‘I’m about to lose my body to some asshole rockstar.’” He laughs and puts out his smoke with his boot.</p>
<p>“That’s bad for you, you know.”</p>
<p>“So is the biochip, you know.”</p>
<p>“Just quit bringing it up, dick! I know it’s bad, but, shit, there’s more important things to do!” V locks her car and begins her descent out of the garage.</p>
<p>“Like walk across the fucking city?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, like walking across the fucking city.” V adjusts her eyes to the daylight and begins her trek to El Coyote Cojo. The bar where her journey began. Which led her to meet Jackie. (That was a failed heist too, she thinks, the day that they met.) She notices Silverhand walking beside her and inspecting the city. Ignoring the pain of her recovering body, V takes a deep breath and focuses on her destination.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” V pauses in her tracks, almost halting the foot traffic behind her. A solemn Johnny offers a gentle expression. He continues, “Look, saying bye isn’t stupid. Walking there and not hailing a cab or something is stupid. I’ve lost people before, good people. Friends, loved ones. But, by hurting yourself, pushing yourself, you’re hurting me.”</p>
<p>“Sorry I’ll be damaged goods by the time this is over, Johnny.” She continues walking.</p>
<p>“Do I look like I give a shit about that right now?” He runs up to face her, walking backwards and phasing through other pedestrians. “You care a whole lot for someone with not a lot of time.”</p>
<p>V refuses to meet his gaze, “Jackie would have done the same. He was a good man like that. I just can’t do anything until I say goodbye, proper.” Finally, at a quarter of the way there, her legs begin to ache closer and closer to agony. The heavier the ache, the heavier the step and better chance for her to stumble. Her stubbornness and fixed gaze at the horizon catches Johnny’s attention. Even despite inhabiting a small corner of V’s mind, Johnny felt even his own hallucinatory body refusing to move anywhere that was not toward El Coyote Cojo. If her will could influence his own, what would happen if his will overtakes hers? Answers to be found later, he figures, as V finally looks up at him. Both of their eyes staying upon the other. Both of their desires finally agree.</p>
<p>“You like what you see, V?”</p>
<p>“For the moment.” V offers a smile and continues down the winding, crowded sidewalk. Johnny slinks back into their mind and enjoys the view.</p>
<p>_____</p>
<p>A few hours after they made it to the bar, Johnny appears, back to the wall, outside. The sun low into the sky as the moon greets Night City. V walks up beside him. “Nice speech, V.”</p>
<p>“Every single word was true. Looks like Mama Welles is gonna give Misty a second chance too. I think Jackie would have enjoyed it if he were here.” V reveals an object in her hand.</p>
<p>“A key?” Johnny inspects it himself and smirks.</p>
<p>“Yep, got some good news for you. We’re not walking home tonight.” V calls Jackie’s Arch, his old motorcycle, given to her by Mama Welles. It appears shortly after, pristine. V swears, when her hands grip the handles, she can smell that cologne. She turns the key, and, to her excitement, the engine purrs like its right off the manufacturer. She revs the engine and laughs out of pure excitement at the vibration of motor life running through her. Missing Jackie, missing T-Bug, and missing her old life, V revs the engine once more and listens as Jackie’s Arch roars onto the street, weaving past cars. Johnny humming inside their mind an old tune, she reckons. She laughs, taking in the unclean air like the steam after a fresh shower, “Fuck, Johnny! You don’t get happy starts in Heywood, you know? I would know. Hell, you hardly get happy endings, but he did. Jackie got it!”</p>
<p>Johnny pauses humming for the moment to ask, “So what did that boy Jackie get in the end?”</p>
<p>“His dignity. And so much love too.” V feels her heart thump faster as the music on the radio and the sound of the world drowns out. She feels those same nights again with Jackie, his cologne, and adventure. Despite everything, even after that failed heist, V feels love in his memory.</p>
<p>“So, tell me about that song you’re singing, Johnny.” Even if they got off on the wrong foot, after today, Johnny Silverhand and V, the mercenary, understand one thing about each other on a very basic level. Without love, without loyalty, there is nothing worth fighting for. “It’s got such a nice tune. Better than anything on the radio nowadays, I bet.”</p>
<p>Johnny chuckles, “Turn off the radio then.” V obliges, flicking the noise off. His voice commanding their now shared attention. The baritone lifting into higher levels of satisfaction for the both of them as the speedometer inches closer to 160 on an open road. His song echoing throughout their mind, and, for once, V wishes others could hear what she does. The feeling of love, of life, and a song she wonders from which part of Johnny it came from. Perhaps not a part she has seen yet, or a part she is unsure she ever wants to see. He sings a song most of time has forgotten. But neither of them have in this moment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Of a whole.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I originally planned for this to be a longer series of one-shots centered around Johnny and V’s growing friendship into eventual relationship. However, I got locked out of the main quest on my save file thirty hours into the game with no way to go back before the glitch occurred. I’m still waiting on a patch, so I couldn’t explore Johnny and V’s character as far as I wanted to in-game. I didn’t know exactly what to do with this chapter! I sat on it for a week and spent a few weeks writing it! </p><p>I think, after everything with my poor save file, it was the best I could do! Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>V remembers normal. The infinite expanse of time between the morning sun and wicked nightlife. A rabid city where she works, plays, and exists. Night City, where pleasures are amplified to degrees unmatched after hours. Here, she thrives. Now, finding normalcy is about as easy as having a job go smoothly. Or a clean cough, or a head without the buzzing. At the very least, to pile onto V’s troubles, her current track record must leave the other fixers and movers within the city and its limits to be wary, cautious, she figures. Within the whirlwind of change, V welcomes rest.  </p><p>	Besides dreaming of Jackie’s outreached palm, bloodied, with a biochip in his last moments, there lies another. An honest dream. A dream sinfully too delectable, soft for BDs, yet the perfect concoction for a pillow over the head and mumbling of a few minutes more. Sweet, not spicy, Hopeful, not assuring. A dream that brings peace. </p><p>	It always begins with Jackie. Their shared time together and the insertion of the biochip. Then, with the brightest flames of revenge, V dissipates. Soon after, she doesn’t wake in the scrapyard this time. Instead, an immense globe of white overloads her optic systems, sending a rattling headache through her skull. She eases her clutched hands over her temples as her bare feet curl and rejoice in tufts of growing, fresh grass. The horizons of light around her expands. The landscape grows gentle, rolling hills and bundles of grassy groves with every step V takes. These sights foreign to Night City. Roaring and releasing a primal screech, the ground shakes beneath V’s feet. Rising from the fertile earth, an immaculate, ancient clock tower sprouts from the dirt. Shaking, rumbling the world below. </p><p>	Her heart thumps, alive, when Johnny Silverhand flashes in and perches upon an ornate edge at the top of the clock tower. A smoke in one hand propped against his knee. His free hand reaching over to push the hands of the clock whichever way he chooses. The days, cloudless, pass by them rapidly. The nights, full of stars, pass by even faster. Johnny wills it by the clock, taking another deep drag of his smoke. During the dream, V, sometimes, will ask him to quit or why he spins the hands at all. Tonight, she remains still with eyes locked onto his. He continues to push the hands of the clock. His own constructed heart, alive, at the bit of freedom. Another choice. He flicks the lit smoke down to the earth below, catching the grass surrounding the bottom of the tower to burn. </p><p>	By Johnny’s hand, their worlds plunge into a darkness. One afraid to approach them or the fire already working its way up to Johnny. The flames encroach closer and closer toward his body and arm, snipping and teasing his skin, until it bites. However, he diligently turns the hands of the clock. Casual, smooth, he smirks and gently tosses a question, “Won’t you save me, V?” </p><p>	The dream ends. She rises, drinks her coffee,  and quickly consumes a breakfast burrito from the vending machine within her apartment. V leaves her warm bed behind with a lingering thought as she locks her front door: Was that Johnny in her dream or a perception of him?<br/>
_____</p><p> </p><p>	After a few long days that contain weeks buried in only twenty-four hours, her car’s repaired. On sunny days, V prefers the Arch. On rainy days, it helps to have a roof. The pattering of rain against metal calms her nerves as she weaves her way through traffic. After a quick gig offered by her fixer, V smiles at her bank account. 21,000 eddies. Enough to pay back her ripperdoc, Viktor Vector.</p><p>	However, by the looks at the traffic, that would still be too long for her liking on waiting to pay this debt. Even so, she breathes deep the comforting rancid air the city provides. The quiet moments, for V, exist only for the moment they’re found. These same moments that keep turning the hands of the clock. Constructs of humanity to define the passing days and the incessant ticking in one’s head. Both Johnny and time are constructs, created by man. Johnny, born of man, died by men, and stuck forever in a chip by man. Yet, both time and Johnny control V silently, carefully. The rockerboy’s watching eyes forever perched in the back of her skull. </p><p>	He watches her work. He watches her survive. He watches her exist. This, and her declining health, prove to make work difficult. At the moment, she could not trust anyone else but a few close to her to know about the relic. Besides, who the hell would believe her anyway? Even V feels disbelief toward her struggle. </p><p>	After that first real night with Johnny, after his warm baritone under the stars as they drove away, V considers both sides of her companion. His existence which hinges on both of their lives. Her physical body, his soul. Then comes the matter of his company. His carefree disdain backed behind strong principles makes for a stubborn man. Yet, a man to share a drink with and bounce a few stories with all the same. V loves and hates each part equally. The back of her skull piques interest, good and bad. She gently touches the mark she feels slowly eroding by Johnny’s company. Does she trust her chances?</p><p>	For Johnny, well, he believes in his chances. Though, he doesn’t know the outcome. Not everyone places a bet on a mercenary, but, hell, beggars couldn’t be choosers. He appreciates his company, if only for being a set of eyes to view this world, and he would gladly place his bet on V. He only wonders to what extent will one of them be the other as the relic processes. A question both of them ask yet refuse to acknowledge. </p><p>	Sighing, V rests her head on the wheel. The traffic hardly moving an inch. Still, Jackie’s cologne lingers along with the scent of fresh blood and sweat. Feeling a pressure build, V violently coughs onto the steering wheel, her back aching as her shoulders rise with every painful breath. She needed to see Viktor and fast. </p><p> </p><p>	Johnny appears in the passenger seat with a smoke unnoticed by V. He examines the woman next to him with a wary eye. Her hair, knotted, Her breath labored and gasping. Then, he hears her breath hitch for a second with knotted gasps for air. It’s when he sees her, hunched over the steering wheel, sobbing, that he quickly wonders if she’ll notice him leave. He did not want this, he did not want to care in this situation, and he feels a tug in his own chest. On instinct, Johnny pinches his nose to distract from the onslaught of her emotion to seep into him. He would be lying if he said that he cared for V. Yet, he would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel something for her. Whether that was by their mind’s design, whatever, he figures. True to form, Johnny states, “You’re a real fuckin’ mess, V.” </p><p>	Her knuckles gripping the steering wheel turn white. V’s face begins to burn with the full brunt of Johnny’s anger and her own anxiety. A nasty, dangerous mixture that sits like lead in their shared stomach. Though, she stops crying. She demands herself to spit out back at him, to let her words touch him in ways action cannot. Yet, she cannot. Her only response is to look out the window. </p><p>	“I know you want to say something.”</p><p>	V moves the car a few inches in response to the moving traffic. She waits a moment before eyeing him up and down. His casual demeanor masking his earlier flux of emotion, but she sees the slump of his shoulders and his shades on a cloudy day. Then, her dream. Isn’t it herself that needs saving ultimately? “Do you want me to save you, Johnny?” </p><p>	“Save me? Shouldn’t it be both of ourselves at this point?” He takes a long drag of his smoke and continues, “What’s even with the sudden question?” </p><p>	“Just wondering how real my perception of you is, I guess.” </p><p>	“Please spare me any philosophical bullshit unless it can get me back in a body that doesn’t eat microwaveable burritos for breakfast every morning. Hell, we get stuck in traffic once, and I’ve watched you cry and ask me about fucking nonsense.” Johnny rolls his eyes. </p><p>	“I think I am in every right to question my reality when I have to listen to you bitch.”</p><p>	He chuckles, “Oh, ouch, that one hurt.”</p><p>	V bites her tongue and grumbles, “And here I thought we were really starting to understand each other.” </p><p>	“Just keep your eyes on the road. Go to your ripperdoc and pay off your debt. Then, we can talk about understanding each other.” Johnny flicks his smoke as far as the construct allows and disappears. V sighs, wondering. Their common ground earlier those nights ago laid the foundation for a giant, obtrusive wall.</p><p>	As the rain outside beats down, the city still bustles and thumps with energy unmatched. Even the power processors on the outskirts of Night City can’t compare. V watches civilians outside her car mostly unbothered by the rain. Some, welcoming it. Others choose to use an umbrella or stay under roofs and covers. She imagines the lives in which these people lead. V wraps herself in her own thoughts to curl into a pseudo comfort. </p><p>	As history passed, attentions did not grow shorter. The amount of work only grew to maintain a longer attention span. V amuses herself in the thought that a mercenary may not be so different from an office worker. For both, to fully enjoy a productive day, it means sifting through the mind numbing advertisements spurning urges to eat, drink, and find, often the case, inadequate pleasures. V sifts through the distractions easily enough. When she closes her eyes, it’s dark, blank. A clean slate. No corporation owns the back of her eyelids. No Johnny can read what she sees inside unless she lets him in. It’s a wall to write whatever comes to mind. It’s the same wall between her and Johnny. </p><p>	Before Johnny, the blank wall existed as an escape from reality. Now, it is an escape from both Johnny and reality. Some days, this wall is covered in various logos of bands, shows, and entertainment. Anything to distract from the truth. The fondest moment she remembers is when the wall remained blank, her thoughts empty and free. The beginnings of a nap V fondly remembers. Shortly before the nap, she took her faithful car out to the mountains with Jackie. The silence, the quiet, the company as she fell asleep on the hood of her car. Sweet dreams to be had. V even feels the back of her skull ease with the memory. If she couldn’t fall asleep immediately, the sheep would begin to jump over the fence. The monotony of counting did not lure her asleep more so than the horizon line. Where the green pastures meet the sky and the sun. </p><p>	These greener pastures so many hunt for while sifting through promises of pleasure. V smiles and loosens her tight grip on the wheel. She finds a world teeming with life behind her closed eyes.</p><p>	The traffic moves. V moves on. Yet, change, in many aspects, feels unfamiliar. </p><p>	The advertisements surrounding her change. The traffic changes. Her own position within the world changes on both a map and notoriety. Never before has change been her sole purpose for existing. Though she hates to admit it, V counted on Jackie to never change. He was full of surprises, but was that really out of the norm for him? She could anticipate the surprise at the very least. Yet, she counts on the unpredictably of Johnny, the favor she owes Takemura, and leads. Countless leads that could have her just as lost as before. V trusts herself to take care of her own chances. If she could, she’d bet on herself. </p><p>	She hopes Viktor will know the next step when she sees him. Perhaps, he can run a quick checkup. Though, every part of her being knows not to expect anything. Yet, Jackie rubbed off on everyone he encountered, so she hopes for a surprise from the ripperdoc. </p><p>	She arrives and parks across the street from her destination. All it took now is a quick walk through Misty’s shop and down into Viktor’s underground clinic. </p><p>	Johnny stirs as an onslaught of pain sweeps over both of them. Pounding, reaching, grasping, the rockstar is forcibly stuck watching V tumble out of her car. She gasps and holds onto the car for balance before attempting to journey to Viktor’s. After a fit of coughs, she wipes the blood from her mouth and takes a second. The route seemed so easy before, but V realizes how wrong that is when the street begins swaying and blurs. </p><p>	Johnny constructs himself and offers a hand, “Are you going to make it there, cowboy?” </p><p>	V swats the hand away which causes the street to spin more. “Yeah, I’m never better, kid. I think you have better things to do, yeah?” </p><p>	“Just shut up and let me help you.” </p><p>	“No.” </p><p>	Johnny removes his glasses and sits with his back against the car, low enough to meet V’s downward gaze. “You don’t trust me. I don’t trust you. That’s completely fine and fair.” </p><p>	“What the fuck is your point?” She gifts him a glare. Her mouth twitching ever so slightly. He notices. </p><p>	He smirks in his normal confidence and shrugs, “That’s it, V. You have every right to hate me, be pissed off at me, and not trust me.” </p><p>	She wonders what she may look like to passerby’s, sitting against her car and glaring at the horizon. When, in fact, she’s glaring at the invader in her head. “And?” </p><p>	“Nope. That won’t circle back around into some grand point about friendship and ‘Oh, we’re forced to be together, so let’s try being nice,’ kind of shit. That’s it, V. It’s just a cold hard fact.” </p><p>	V straightens her back and notices an empty, bouncing echo within her stomach. An echo that terrifies her. The notion of friendship with Johnny Silverhand. Yet, isn’t this what she wants, V wonders. Earlier, he offered to talk about understanding. She quickly realizes the mere topic of friendship with him encapsulates more of her feelings than understanding. No, friendship could only evolve. Understanding came with it. “What are you getting at?” </p><p>	“I’m reassuring you. Wanna know why?”</p><p>	“Why?” </p><p>	“Because I’m helping you inside that building. It’s my body too now.” With that, Johnny grabs one of V’s hands and places his other arm on her back to stabilize her. Though the crowded street only sees a woman weakly moving toward Misty’s shop, the help is real. An influence, a suggestion of the senses to fool the brain. It works. All the while, the previous statement floating in her mind. It’s his body too now. He wants to care for it, in any capacity. Their slow walk eventually leads them into Misty’s shop. V remembers normal and a concerned woman calling out her name before the world begins to blur incomprehensibly. Johnny’s words ringing. </p><p>	It’s his body too now.</p><p>_____</p><p>	V awakens to the sound of internal humming. A pleasant buzzing within her skull. A distant song only two remember. The scent of fading upholstery and sanitation suggests Viktor’s, but the scene around her is much different. A wall faces her, blank. </p><p>	A voice rumbles, persistent, shaking the wall as loose rocks scatter, “Are you awake, V?” The voice attempts again, warm and reassuring, “Are you there?” </p><p>	V’s eyes open and quickly close again as a white light hits her face. She wipes the sleep from her eyes and attempts to adjust to the environment. She then sees her ripperdoc open into view. He offers a plaintive smile and rolls his chair closer, “Hey, Vik.” </p><p>	He nods, “How are you feeling? Misty said you were barely holding it together when you came in. She said you had help too. I assume-“ </p><p>	V sighs. “Yeah, you can. But it’s still getting worse. I mean, the cough is terrible, and my head won’t stop buzzing.” Johnny emerges behind Viktor and catches V’s gaze for a moment. </p><p>	“Is your head still buzzing now?”</p><p>	“Uh, not really.” </p><p>	“Good. I tuned your implants a bit more to accommodate your condition. You should feel better soon enough, but I would advise not aggravating the biochip too much.” </p><p>	“Kinda hard, doc.”</p><p>	“Yeah, yeah. I know. But you’ll work it out.” Viktor reassuringly pats V on the shoulder. Her face softens at the gesture. “I have some other diagnostics to run, and I’d like to monitor your health for the night. So get comfy.” </p><p>	“No, I couldn’t. I actually came here to pay off my debt.”</p><p>	“Just rest. We can worry about eddies later. I’d rather keep my best customer in one piece, alright?” </p><p>	“Alright.” They both leave it at that as Viktor excuses himself to another part of his clinic. Johnny wastes no time to steal the ripperdoc’s seat. They both remain silent, stewing in their unanswered questions and arguments waiting to happen. But they don’t come. V questions whether or not it’s worth it to agree, or understand, or care for Johnny. Though her own instinct cannot deny she feels something.</p><p>	After many moments, Johnny breaks the tense silence between them and opens a conversation in their mind, “I saw your memory from earlier. The one with you and Jackie? Real beautiful, it’s too bad you don’t get views like that from the city.” </p><p>	“Yeah, yeah. That was normal for me.” </p><p>	“Yeah, things aren’t so normal now, are they?” Johnny locks his fingers together and leans into a comfortable pose. His softened face a rare right. </p><p>	“Tell me. What happened after that night on the Arch? You understood then what Jackie meant to me. So why couldn’t you understand when I cried, Johnny?” </p><p>	“You loved Jackie,” V’s eyes widen, “I know that because I lived it too, and, well, I’m not a big fan.” </p><p>	She pauses for a second in shock at his revelation, “He was the best choom a girl could have.”</p><p>	“Don’t you think it’s a problem you never explicitly said anything about these details, but I know nearly everything from that memory?”</p><p>	“Yes, I think it’s a problem, but it doesn’t mean we should look away. At the very least, we should try to understand each other.” V sighs. “I just don’t understand why that memory bothered you so much. I’m sure more of mine have leaked into your brain.” </p><p>	Johnny considers his next words carefully, knowing the implication could go either way. “Whenever you think of Jackie,” Johnny waits until he captures V’s gaze, her full, complete attention. He feels an unknown part of himself lurch at her gaze. “Your thought always ends with that night of us on the Arch. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea here. Neither of us have the best intentions.” </p><p>	V scoffs, “You must really think highly of yourself. Maybe I’m getting the wrong idea because you have the wrong idea. You know, that fucky thing that happens with our brain? If you want to say it, fucking say it.” She immediately bites her tongue when Johnny scowls. V knows damn well her feelings, but she hates the comfort his presence brings. It’s not their fault except for the vicious cycle of finger-pointing.</p><p>	He understands why they blame the other. He understands that, at some point, they’ll need to reach common ground. What he yet doesn’t understand is why he cares, “You think that after one night that you might like me in a way impossible.”</p><p>	“Every bit of you is impossible, Johnny. What isn’t impossible is that you may like me too.” </p><p>	V and Johnny both long for another wistful night on that bike. V admits that to herself while Johnny admits it’s the other’s fault. Yet, they are not both without blame. Instead, Johnny imagines the wind billowing in his hair as he breathes in deep, a simple freedom that comes within. A freedom he is currently denied unless it is by V’s whim. V imagines the thundering roar of the engine coming to life as she shuts the radio off and listens to a song of their own. Each of them have lost so much as her brain succumbs to the chip. Their loss of autonomy results in a conflicting mess. Yet, Johnny finally sees another way to understand the second mind of his, and, in regards to V, the second mind of hers. They both inhabit the same body, yes, but they do not share a personality. If that day comes that V loses hers and Johnny takes over, he would still regard V as her own person. The difference between them as people and others around them lies in communication. Theirs is intimate, uncontrollable, and important to understand. Something V realized much sooner. </p><p>	V finds comfort in Johnny. Admittedly, after the heist, she was starved for comfort, but, now, there is a real intent behind both of them. They’re both lonely, yet less so in their struggles now. The man she dreams on a clock tower spinning the hands of the clock, the digital construct only she can see, exists on a level both heightened and devoid of her five cybernetically enhanced senses. Every fiber, bend, and tear of her being wants to tattle on her subconscious. To tell the man sitting next to her, which it feels so real, about the very real dreams she experiences about him. The explanation on her lips so close to reaching the junction between confession and not. Her dreams are about her very valid fears of losing her autonomy. Her choice to speak is her choice. </p><p>	Johnny, still holding onto the depths of his mind, makes a choice, “Rest, V. We have work to do tomorrow.” She listens. </p><p>	She wonders. Whatever half of herself that died that day could very well be the half adopted by Johnny’s worst side. One thing V has yet to find out is the half she still has. At least, it’s easier for V to imagine both of them as sharing equal wholes. </p><p>	It would be easier if that were always the case. </p><p>	What if her and Johnny could sit and revel in finer things? In the complete absurdity and vibrancy life brings. If they could sit together and Johnny would throw a comment, “You sound like you’ve made your peace with the idea that we could like each other.” To which V would continue. </p><p>	“Trust me, I haven’t.” </p><p>	And, as the sun sits in the perfect middle of the horizon, Johnny lights a smoke, “But you’re at peace now.” Yes, for the moment, she feels at peace with the idea as she drifts off to sleep in the real world. With the real constructed Johnny watching her breath slowly rise and fall again in a perfect unmatched tempo. The beginnings of a song he begins to write in his head.</p><p>	“But you know best these streets hold onto shit past its expiration date. I mean, hell, look at you, Johnny! Have you made peace with that yet?” Her eyes flutter open in surprise to seeing such an amused look on Johnny’s face.</p><p>	Johnny smirks and answers in the real world, “Never in a million years.” </p><p>	 It was so simple and normal before. V closes her eyes to sleep and sees a vibrant horizon. That wall painted masterfully with hues otherworldly. Instead, the wall is smashed into bits by a runaway motorcycle driven by the man who so abruptly came into her life. She sifts through the brick as, beyond the broken wall, a new scene emerges. The green pastures that topple over the other lie before her in a horizon that kisses the sky and the sun. The sheep jump over the fence under a deep, blue sky.</p><p>	When she looks and inches closer toward the horizon, she swears she can hear the distant sound of that familiar baritone. Outside of her forming dreamworld, she reaches out with her hand as Johnny watches her breath even. He does not deny his instinct to meet her there. Johnny gently grazes his own fingers over hers as she drifts further into unconsciousness. It would not be long until he’s dragged there too, but, for the moment, their hands meet while he sings in his raspy baritone at her breath’s tempo. </p><p>	His song born from a part Johnny has yet to find within himself until now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! If my save file is fixed, I may write more one-shots!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! I have an idea for another chapter that I might do! </p><p>I just love this dynamic so much!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>